


let's take a powder (to Boston for chowder).

by flydale_north



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Bondage, Christmas, Christmas Party, Herm being grumpy, Hermann seriously getting off on prostate massage, Laughter During Sex, M/M, Newt rolling with it, Pacific Rim Secret Santa 2014, Prostate Massage, Tickling, bizarre and ill-advised safe words, no one is winning the Fields Medal for this fic, sorry for all the science jokes, sub Hermann, top Newton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 10:19:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2847473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flydale_north/pseuds/flydale_north
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermann is feeling down after a harrowing party on Christmas Eve, so there's really only one thing for Newton to do. That's right: DDR showdown!!</p><p>I'm lying. It's fucking. They do the sex. </p><p>(Set post-movie, when the scientists are living in Boston and everyone in Newt's department at MIT has a crush on Hermann.)</p><p>A present for <a href="http://darowen.tumblr.com/">darowen</a> for Pacific Rim Secret Santa!</p>
            </blockquote>





	let's take a powder (to Boston for chowder).

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Darowen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darowen/gifts).



> This is a Pacific Rim Secret Santa fic for [darowen](http://darowen.tumblr.com/)! Their prompt was:  
>  **"1. NSFW: Submissive Hermann with Top Newt (OR) 2. Fluff: Grumpy Hermann with a cute and loving Newt."**
> 
> Who doesn't look at that and think, "¿Por qué no los dos?"

"Newton, if I knew it were possible for your colleagues to flirt with me while I was dressed as a bloody _workshop elf_ , I would have endeavored to find a less alluring costume!"

It's Christmas Eve, but Hermann feels decidedly less than merry after the aggravation of the godforsaken departmental Christmas party that Newton had insisted they attend _and dress up for_. After insisting upon an early exit, he had fumed all the way home and _still_ feels like screaming out a window.

Newton locks the door and turns on the hall light; when he looks at Hermann, his expression is irritatingly unsympathetic. "Yeah, like try Sylvester McCoy," he sighs, plucking at the question marks embroidered on his vest. "Do they know how long it took me to pattern this by hand? You bought _that_ in a shop."

" _Newton._ "

Newton puts down his umbrella, hangs his hat, and takes him by both hands. "Hermann. I'm sorry you didn't like it, and I'm sorry I had to leave you alone most of the time. I really didn't know what else I was expecting when I thought of bringing my hot boyfriend to the soirée."

"Decorum, I'd have thought," Hermann rejoins, keeping hold of Newton as he makes his way toward the bedroom. "These people are supposed to be professionals and this isn't the bloody senior prom. I'm not used to being . . . "

"Fawned over?" Newton waggles an eyebrow.

"Debased!" Hermann shouts, opening the door. "I know I'm not fully at ease with etiquette in this country, but I'm reasonably certain that a slipper down the calf is not the conventional way to indicate that you're enjoying the conversation," Hermann grouses, taking off his _ridiculous_ hat and throwing it towards the laundry basket.

"Is that all?" Newton asks, beginning to remove his costume with much more care than he normally affords his clothing.

"Someone pinched my arse as I was at the punchbowl. I don't know who, but I think it was that research assistant, Emily," Hermann says, showing much less care with _his_ costume than he gives to his daily undergarments.

"Yeah, well," Newton says, considering. "No suspects, there. I wouldn't put it past any of them."

"One of them offered to give me a _private_ reading of her poetry."

Newton laughs. "Was that Adrienne? I know how it sounds, but I think she just really likes poetry."

"Not to mention the number of people who tried to kiss me under the mistletoe," he continues, unimpeded.

"Well, Hermann, you can't blame anyone for that. That's Christmas tradition."

"Not when the mistletoe is in their ruddy _hand_!"

Newton chuckles, still more amused about this situation than Hermann would like him to be. He should have expected nothing less. Newton has been telling him time and time again that they're literal rock stars now, and that most of the world would either like to be in their shoes or be in their pants. And unless it was all an elaborate prank, a good proportion of the MIT Biology department seemed to be in the latter category. It was outrageous.

When they're both rid of their costumes, Newton blinks a shy smile at him and moves to pool the duvet on the floor. Neither of them had need to say it, but the proven treatment for Hermann's agitation, more often than not, was to shag it out of him. The results had been experimentally proven, _p_ value ≤ 0.01.

When the sheets have been bared, Newton starts arranging the pillows so that they will be able to support Hermann in an upright position. While he fusses, he asks, "Tell me, though, did you enjoy _any_ of it?", sounding sure of what the answer will be.

After a pause, Hermann admits, "The food was excellent."

"Aw, yiss. You know what they say about biologists. We sure can cook."

"Yes, I'm sure they say that. And Dr. Johnson and his wife were charming company."

"Oh, man, they're the best. We should have them over sometime." Newton moves back from his handiwork and thumps one of the pillows. "Come over here."

Hermann positions himself against the foundations and makes a thoughtful noise.

"How do you feel? Comfortable?" Newton asks.

Hermann shifts in place, settling his weight. "Yes, quite so, really. I think you were right to splurge on the memory foam."

Newton swings himself over Hermann, positioning himself in a kneel. He inches forward until their groins are snug against each other, and Hermann exhales with softly vocalized pleasure. He's not quite hard yet, and neither is Newton, but Newton's skin is deliciously warm, and his hands are reverent as they slip under Hermann's shoulders and neck.

"Only the best for you, Angel Delight," he says, with a crinkle to his eyes, and captures Hermann's parted lips within his own. 

They kiss deeply, leisurely; Hermann knows Newton must be hoping to literally siphon the emotional toll of the evening right off him, the doting sod. He can't help but crumple into the embrace, pliant as modeling clay. His fingers skim gentle caresses into Newton's sides, tracing soothing circles that make Newton hum, a counterpoint to the warm movement of Newton's hands across his own frame.

It doesn't take much of this before Hermann can feel Newton's cock hardening into his own eagerly swelling arousal. His hips instinctively shift into the touch, entreating, and Newton's gyrating pelvis seems all too happy to oblige. Hermann is soon whimpering at the stimulation, allowing the sounds to leave his lips simply because it feels good to make them. There was a time when he would censor himself in the bedroom; he quickly learned that it was much more enjoyable for _both_ of them to put bashfulness aside.

When they are both rock hard, eager, and panting, Newton pulls himself away from Hermann's kiss-plumped lips with palpable difficulty. He draws his hand up to cup Hermann by the chin, green eyes searing.

"Okay, baby, here's what I'm thinking. I'd like to tie you up for a bit and make you feel awesome. Really, you're gonna feel so damn good that you'll forget all about the dumb flirts at the dumb party. Sound all right?"

Hermann takes in a breath. "More so."

Newton's smile is like the sun. "You're the best, Herms, you really are. We probably won't be doing anything too intense, but what word are we using tonight?"

"I was thinking a new one. 'Trendelenburg'?"

"Uh. Come again?"

"It's the name of a test that always bests me. Congenital hip dysplasia, you know. It's always reminded me of Christmas, so I thought it would be apropos. Don't you think so?" 

Newton closes his eyes in silent petition. "Hermann, you're a synesthete and an utter loon. I hope you know that."

Hermann tries his best to frown but is thwarted when Newton leans forward to peck him on the nose. Newton clambers off him and makes haste to free the strappings lying below each corner of the bed.

"Not too tight, Newton?" Hermann says, moving further down the bed so he's recumbent upon their soft flannel. 

Newton nods in assent. "No problem. I know you've been especially sore because of this weather. It'll be just enough to keep you restrained, but shouldn't hurt." He moves around the bed, taking each of Hermann's limbs in turn and binding them to allow some give. When he steps back to survey his work, Hermann pulls experimentally and finds himself utterly secured, and now at the mercy of Newton's whims. His nipples tighten under Newton's gaze.

Cock bobbing where Hermann can see it, Newton steps over to the bedside table and removes a bottle of lube, a condom, some wet wipes, and a small plug, which hint at plans Hermann approves greatly of. He takes the lube with him to the foot of the bed and crawls between Hermann's spread legs to press a soft, suckling kiss to the very head of Hermann's cock. Hermann gasps, and his hips jump optimistically, but Newton sits up then, and grinning at Hermann's sigh of frustration, flicks open the top of the lube. 

He squeezes a dollop of lube onto his fingers and brings them down to rub against Hermann's hole, making him shift and shiver. Murmuring an apology for the chill, he massages his fingers in deep circles until he can press careful fingertips past the tense rim. He twirls a thick fingertip around the inner lip, pushing and probing gently, then withdraws, only to pull Hermann's arse apart with his other hand so that he has a better angle to softly scratch at Hermann's entrance. Hermann lets out an involuntary chirrup at the tease; he's so _blessedly_ sensitive here, and Newton never fails to exploit this fact. He sets up a relentless pace against Hermann's hole — quick, persistent flicks that have Hermann twisting in place and softly laughing.

"You like that, darling?" Newton asks, unable to keep from laughing either. He suddenly worms his finger vigorously against Hermann's hole, and Hermann shrieks, jerking in his bonds.

"Oh, you _do_ like this," Newton says convivially, as he resumes the flickering brushes that drive Hermann into a peal of giggles. "Let's see what more fun we can have." 

He winks and pulls away, grabbing the lube again. Hermann watches Newton slick two fingers, following the movement of his hand until it disappears between his legs. And then — oh, _nngh_ — there are fingers breaching him, filling him up with a burning goodness. He bears down upon them, facilitating their passage, and soon Newton's hand is snug against his ass, and Hermann hisses from between his teeth.

"You're not allowed to come yet, okay?" Newton instructs him. "I need you to tell me if I have to stop. Got it?"

Hermann nods fervently. "Mach ich. Newton . . . "

Newton smiles. He curls his fingers against Hermann's prostate and pauses for just a moment, letting Hermann adjust. Hermann takes a shaking breath in anticipation of what is to come; he's exceptionally responsive to prostate stimulation, so much so that the thought alone sends an expectant droplet of fluid running down his cock.

"Ready for this, babe? Here we — "

Newton crooks his fingers inward, and begins a caress of slow, steady strokes that brush the full length of Hermann's prostate. Hermann moans in _utter_ delight, hips squirming desperately around Newton's clever fingers. There are few sensations sweeter than being massaged from the inside out, every touch discharging a thunderbolt that crackles all the way through his cock and showers sparks upon the swollen head. It's making him absolutely _throb_ with pleasure, the pulses of blood rhythmically squeezing his cock as palpably as would a corporeal touch. He can't help but plead — soft, whispered orisons of "please"; of "more, oh, Newton, more"; of "oh, yes, _yes_ ".

As Hermann's movements grow jerkier and his pleas more plaintive, Newton progresses to firmer rubs against his prostate. Every touch is unbearably provocative, and Hermann feels completely at his mercy. His cock is shamelessly _dripping_ now, wine-red and wet with evidence of his tremendous arousal. Newton doesn't falter in his strokes, and Hermann can do nothing but squirm and whimper at the unrelenting ecstasy of the onslaught. 

"Jesus, Herm, you're so goddamn fucking beautiful, I can't even look at you," Newton professes above him, voice rough. "Do you even know what you look like right now, what you're fucking doing to me?"

Hermann can only mewl in response. He lets the feeling build as long as he can, riding the thrill of exquisite stimulation until there is nothing in the world except the delicious hard massage against his prostate and the intense hammering of blood through his rigid cock. After an age, he feels his testicles tighten in warning, and calls out to Newton with a pained cry.

"Newton, I'm not — you must — _haaaa_ — you must stop, please, Trendele- _nngh_ — oh, my goodness . . . !" he groans, unable to bite back a moan when Newton does exactly as he's asked and withdraws. 

Hermann can do nothing but pant harshly, eyes closed, pelvis still tipped and shifting as though seeking the lost contact. Newton is busy with something beside him; Hermann inhales when he feels the slick bulb of their buttplug pushing against his rim and, finding little resistance, seating itself snugly inside him. Hermann clenches around the welcome intrusion as Newton crawls forward and kisses him, whispering, "Oh, baby, you did so well. My baby, my darling, you did perfectly."

While Hermann's breathing comes down to a sustainable level, Newton starts moving around him, releasing the ties on his wrists and ankles. When all is undone, he helps Hermann back into a seated position and straddles his waist, resting his weight forward with a forearm on the headboard. His pupils are blown wide open; Hermann assumes that his must be in a similar condition.

"Did you enjoy that?" Newton asks flirtatiously, and snags his bottom lip between his teeth. Oh, God, but the man could be _intolerable_. Hermann controls a smile with superhuman force of will, and arches an eyebrow.

"Really, Newton, you call yourself a scientist? I think you've gathered enough evidence to support your hypothesis," he says, attempting "disdainful" but, in all honesty, thwarted by his inability to catch his breath.

Newton snorts with laughter, and Hermann's poker face crumbles in an instant. "But, you know, Herm," he says thoughtfully, "I really need more data points in order to generate a correlation coefficient. We'll plot it on the graph where _x_ equals how long I massage your sweet spot and _y_ is how far you shoot. I wonder if we can get the scale into meters."

Laughing warmly, Hermann returns, "I guarantee that _r_ will be exceptionally close to, if not equal to 1. But I agree, there is only one way to make sure."

Newton nudges himself forward so that he's speaking directly into Hermann's mouth. "That's a promise, dude," he says seriously, stealing a heated kiss. Hermann can feel his cock dig into his stomach, and is reminded that Newton hasn't yet been touched.

"Why did you untie me, darling?" Hermann inquires, pulling him in close with fond fingers on the pudge of Newton's arse. Newton looses a small growl and wriggles his dick into Hermann's stomach.

"I wanted you free for this next part," he bites out. "I don't want to fuck you without your hands on my body."

Hermann smiles. "You like my hands, Spatzerl?" 

"Yeah, dude, they're pretty great. They make me feel, I dunno. Wanted?" Newton glances away. "Or whatever."

"Newton, you are always wanted and always desirable. Here," Hermann says, wrapping a sturdy hand around Newton's cock.

Newton's eyes flutter closed. "Ngh, _Hermann_ . . . Oh, jeez, you didn't have to . . . uh, oh God, um . . . " His head drops, and Hermann presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Newton's own slick is prodigious enough that Hermann's hand can move freely across his member. He takes his time with even strokes, squeezing firmly and making Newton moan. 

"Oh, man. That feels so good, Herm, it _really_ does," he groans, and Hermann hums with approval. He brings his other hand into play so that one is free to tend to the head while the other maintains a steady rhythm around the shaft. His fingertips tease at the head in quick-fire inward strokes, and Newton's deep noises turn to cackles. 

"Hahhh, H-h-hermann, oh _God_ ," he giggles. "That s-shouldn't feel good but it feels _am-amazing_ . . ." he manages, before losing himself again to laughter. Hermann keeps it up for a few enjoyable minutes, listening to Newton's snickering, before taking pity and moving to vibrate his thumb against Newton's frenulum.

Newton tenses. " _Hrrn_ , oh, oh, fuck, you need to stop. Ohhh, _God_ that's good. Trendyburg . . . um, Trematode worms, or, Jesus fuck, Hamburglar, Rosalind Franklin, Benjamin Sisko, Hermann fucking Gottlieb, for the love of _math_!" he wails, as Hermann takes away the stimulation and Newton is left trembling in his arms.

"Shh, Newton," Hermann whispers, stroking the back of his neck. "I'm very impressed with you. Come on, old boy, up you get. Let's finish this off."

Newton takes a deep, shaking breath and nods. He kisses Hermann on the forehead, grabs the condom from the side table, then moves down off his lap, settling between his spread legs. He rolls the condom down his length, and gives Hermann the once-over. "Are you still ready for this?" he asks, grasping the base of the plug in Hermann's arse and giving it a quick tug. Hermann convulses around him.

"Yes, I'm ready! Jesus wept."

"Are you sure about that?" Newton asks, the picture of concern, pulling the plug partly out then letting it get pulled back into Hermann's body. Hermann cries out in frustration. "We wouldn't want to do anything that would hurt you," he adds, giving it a few short jerks in rapid succession.

"Newton, I am at this moment harder than proving the Riemann hypothesis; I am _begging_ you, take the plug out and put your blasted cock _in_!"

Finally, _blissfully_ , Newton does as he's told and slides the plug out. "Okay, Herm, but I'm just warning you, when we get married, I'm putting that quote on our slideshow." He slicks his cock up, spreads Hermann's cheeks, and slowly pushes home. 

Hermann groans quietly at the intrusion; he doesn't think he'll ever get used to how damned _good_ it feels to have Newton's cock in his arse. What it loses to fingers in dexterity, it makes up for in proportion. Newton slides ever forward, letting Hermann feel every centimeter, until his full length is seated inside.

"You good, Hermann?" Newton whispers.

"Newton," he whispers back. "You will move, will you?"

Newton does, starting up a rhythm of slow, deep thrusts that make him groan with delight. Hermann's hands, as promised, stroke along his sides and arms with soothing reverence. In turn, Newton doesn't content himself with simply finding an angle that feels good for his pleasure, but shifts just a bit every couple of thrusts, trying to give Hermann his own.

"Tell me when," he breathes, thrusting his hips a touch higher.

" _Ah_ ," Hermann gasps. "Oh, there. There!"

With that acknowledgement, Newton finally begins driving into him in earnest. Every forward stroke slams Hermann's prostate with an intensity that makes Hermann moan with its utter sweetness. He loses count of how many times he is struck — all he knows is that the constant stimulation is _heavenly_ , the loveliest of massages against his most secret of places.

"Oh, Newton. Oh, oh, _Newton_ ," he whispers, gentle as a devotion.

"Hermann, you are _such_ a good boy. Oh, darling, you're so good for me, you gorgeous thing."

After a minute and eternity of this rapture, Newton cries out to him, "Oh, babe, I'm so nearly there. I'm gonna need to — " and reaches out to take hold of Hermann's begging cock. Hermann whimpers, throwing his head back, and thrusts desperately into the searing grip. It's only a few strokes before he is shouting and jerking in Newton's fist, releasing pulse after pulse of ejaculate as hot, white pleasure overtakes him. 

Groaning with pent-up tension, Newton performs a few more uneven thrusts before he is _slamming_ his hips into Hermann and loosing his release. He shudders through his orgasm, curling in on himself as his face contorts with pleasure. When he is fully spent, he collapses against Hermann, shaking and taking in gulping breaths. Hermann can't yet speak, and satifies himself with feeling the beats of his own heart in his chest, of Newton's heart against his.

In a few minutes, when Newton has amassed the energy, he pulls out of Hermann and tosses the condom in the general direction of the wastebasket. He gropes for the wet wipes and cleans them up as best he can. As he is disposing of the tissues, he catches a glimpse of the bedside clock.

"Hey!" he says buoyantly. "It's Christmas."

Hermann smiles and beckons him sit with him. "Merry Christmas, darling."

"Merry Christmas, Herms." He settles against Hermann with a sigh. "Let's sleep in tomorrow. The presents can wait. Let Santa get to some of the other houses first."

"Have you been a good boy this year, Doctor Geiszler?"

"You know, I don't know if fucking someone until they come all over themselves counts as exceptionally naughty or exceptionally nice."

"It's all right. If you get coal tomorrow, I'll suck you off."

"Oh ho! Jingle my bell, Doctor Gottlieb."

They laugh together, then lose themselves to small, pleased noises as they kiss sleepily. Tomorrow, Hermann thinks, will be the first Christmas in more than a decade that won't be tempered by fears about the fate of the world as a whole. They'll make sugar cookies, Skype with their families, devour pints of apple cider, and see what lovely presents they'd been sent from their friends all over the world.

He supposes that if people want to think him a rock star for helping to bring about this state of affairs, maybe it isn't his place to tell them differently.

**Author's Note:**

> Denizens of MIT have been taken from real life Bostonians. You know who you are! Silly references can be found using Google. Hermann uses Bavarian diminutives. Newton likes powdered desserts. A lot of science was harmed in the writing of this fic. 
> 
> Title is from the song "Let's Get Away From It All", famously sung by Frank Sinatra, but I had the [Rockapella](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oOM2Qi3A1C8) version in mind. Anyone remember Rockapella? Check it out even if you've no idea what song they're famous for.
> 
> The Trendelenburg sign is real. My belief that it sounds like Christmas is also real. My classmates' ridicule of this assertion is also real. Congenital hip dysplasia is real; my thanks to [swoonforme](http://swoonforme.tumblr.com/) for having a positive Trendelenburg sign.
> 
> This is what Hermann looks like in his costume ([click for gif](http://baldwinboy5ive.tumblr.com/post/68870295581/what-do-i-call-this-a-very-newmann-christmas)):
> 
> (Find me on [Tumblr](http://drhermannhottlieb.tumblr.com/).)


End file.
